


I don't know how to be without you

by writinginthesecrettrees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinginthesecrettrees/pseuds/writinginthesecrettrees
Summary: When pre-season 1 Dean meets pre-season 8 Sam in the back of the Impala.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 139





	I don't know how to be without you

Sam wakes up slowly, cramped and uncomfortable in the front seat of the Impala, and for a moment he thinks everything’s right in the world and he’s not sure why because in the next he remembers. Dean disappearing, and Castiel too, and Crowley running off with Kevin and Sam… Sam alone, completely alone like he’s never been in his life. He stares up into the darkness, tries to recapture the feeling of rightness that he hadn’t felt since Dean vanished.

The car shifts slightly, and a sound from the backseat has Sam fully awake, half-over the seat with his gun in his hand ready to shoot whoever snuck into the car.

And it’s Dean, wearing Dad’s old leather jacket and the amulet that Sam has to check is still in his front pocket, brow creased slightly in his sleep.

“Dean?” It’s barely a whisper, but the Dean in the car hears it, wakes up himself, eyes going straight to the gun still pointing at him, and Sam fumbles to put it away, drops it somewhere in the footwell.

“What the hell…” 

It sounds like Dean, looks like Dean, smells like Dean. And that sense of rightness in his soul…

It’s not like they haven’t time traveled before. Still, Dean would kill him if he didn’t make sure. Sam splashes holy water onto the man in the backseat.

He shakes the water off his face with the same grumpy look the real Dean would give, then looks at the silver knife Sam’s holding out, handle first.

“I repeat: what the hell.”

Sam stretches his arm out so that the handle of the knife nudges the younger Dean’s cheek. “You can do it, or I can do it, but one of us is gonna do it.”

Dean bats Sam’s hand away, takes the handle. “Alright, alright,” he says, setting the blade against his arm. He draws a thin line of blood without flinching. “Satisfied?”

Sam nods, tries to speak but there’s a lump welling up in his throat and he can’t.

“So who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing _in my car.”_

It’s not a question, and Sam can’t answer anyway. He stares at Dean, drinks in the sight of his brother, younger and cocky and so much more carefree than the Dean he just lost but still Dean, has to blink away the tears that threaten to blur his vision. His lip quirks up in a half-smile, and he manages a single word: “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean answers without thinking, then pauses. Looks closer, and… “Sammy?”

Sam nods, and now he can’t stop the tears, scrambles up and over the seat to get close to Dean. Dean’s arms close around him automatically, Dean’s hands stroke over his hair and back as Sam burrows into the younger man. He can hear Dean muttering something, but Sam’s lost in the scent and feel of his brother, climbs fully into Dean’s lap and nuzzles against his neck. Finally, he starts to calm. As if sensing it, Dean’s hands slide to his shoulders, push him back. Green eyes bore into him.

“So, if you’re Sam… why aren’t you at college? And why are you _old?”_

“That’s a really long story.”

“I got time.”

Sam sighs, then leans forward. Lays his head on Dean’s shoulder, slides his hand across Dean’s belly to wrap around his waist, and the slight shudder Dean gives when Sam’s fingers brush across bare skin makes Sam smile.

“You broke into my apartment. Said Dad was missing. And you wanted me to help look for him.”

Dean stays silent while Sam tells him about looking for Dad, about Jess and the fire, about almost everything that’s happened in the last eight years. And Dean tentatively returns Sam’s touches, runs his hands over Sam’s arms, chest, face with increasing confidence. When Sam finishes, breath hitching as he tells Dean how he killed Dick and then vanished, Dean’s hands have slid up his back, under his shirt.

Sam shifts his seat, twists around to face Dean with his knees planted to either side of Dean’s legs. He leans in to press his face into Dean’s hair. “God, I miss you,” he whispers, and Dean shivers.

“Sammy, is this… are we…” Dean stutters to a stop, one hand buried in Sam’s hair and the other resting too far low and back to be on Sam’s hip.

Sam rocks back into the hand on his ass, tries to make sense of what Dean’s asking. From the very first time it had felt like forever, slipping from brothers to lovers as easy as breathing, and he’d almost forgotten that there had ever been a time they weren’t together.

“After Dad died, it just… It felt right,” Sam says, rocks forward to press himself against Dean, and Dean gasps, slips his hand into Sam’s pants to massage his ass and pull him closer. Sam moans softly, grinds his hips down as Dean thrusts up, ignores the painful roughness of denim between them. 

“I’ve dreamed about this,” Dean says, then pulls Sam’s head down to crush their lips together.

Dean tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, like he did the first time Sam ever kissed him, and it helps that this isn’t the same Dean he lost, that he can pretend he’s twenty-three and surrendering to the lifelong pull for the first time again. Sam licks into Dean’s mouth and Dean’s hand tightens in his hair. A sense of urgency comes over Sam, and he sits back, ducking his head to avoid hitting the ceiling, and pulls his shirt off. Dean’s mouth drops open and he presses one hand to Sam’s chest, traces over the lines of his muscles and rolls his thumb over Sam’s nipple.

“What’s this?” Dean asks, running his fingers over the tattoo on Sam’s chest. 

Sam shivers at the ticklish feel. “Anti-possession. You have one too, later. We match.” 

Dean keeps rubbing at the tattoo, a smile teasing at his lips, and he says, “Good.”

Sam pushes the jacket off Dean’s shoulders, tugs at the hem of Dean’s shirt until Dean leans forward and lets Sam pull it off completely. Sam sighs with satisfaction, seeing old scars that he’d almost forgotten, used to run his lips and tongue over - the claw marks from a wendigo, bite marks from a black dog, countless thin lines from knives or glass or splintered wood, and half of them from Dean protecting Sam. All of them vanished after Dean came back from Hell, but back now, and Sam presses his lips to the jagged line on Dean’s shoulder, moves lower, ignores the cramping in his back from the limited space in the back of the Impala.

He works his way down Dean’s chest, sucks red marks into Dean’s skin while keeping his eyes on Dean’s face, can’t bear to miss a single expression. Dean’s lips part when Sam presses an open-mouth kiss over the amulet on his chest, and Dean bites his lower lip when Sam slips lower, licking over Dean’s abs and undoing his jeans.

Sam’s nuzzling at Dean’s dick, hard and familiar and mouthwateringly real, when Dean somehow flips them, leaving Sam flat on his back and bent almost in half and Dean kneeling on the seat between his legs.

“Wanna fuck you, Sammy,” Dean says, and it’s exactly what he said the first time, and Sam grins up at him.

“Yeah, okay,” is a private joke, and this Dean doesn’t get it because he’s never heard it before but that doesn’t matter, not when he’s got Sam’s pants off and is rubbing a spit-slick finger over Sam’s hole.

Just spit was fine when they were fucking every night, and sometimes in the day, but it’s been over a month and Sam’s tight as the first time. He winces at the burn when Dean slips his finger into Sam, reaches down and fumbles at the space beneath the front seat until his hand closes over a half-empty bottle of lube.

“Here,” he says, shoving the bottle at Dean, and Dean’s eyes light up. 

“Flavored? Sammy, are we freaky?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Thought you wanted to fuck me,” Sam says, loves the way Dean’s eyes go sultry at the thought.

Cold lube dripped onto his hole makes Sam gasp, and then the breath is squished out of him when Dean hauls his ass up so that his belly is scrunched up and his legs are hanging over Dean’s shoulders and his hole is perfectly level with Dean’s mouth.

Dean didn’t eat him out the first time, took months to admit that he wanted to try it, almost shy, and “yeah, okay,” was the only response Sam could give at the thought of Dean’s tongue in his ass. This Dean dives in, mouth open and teeth scraping over puckered flesh as his tongue stabs into Sam, and Sam can’t do anything but moan. 

He loosens quickly on Dean’s tongue and Dean slides a finger in alongside it. Then two, and he pulls his face back to watch his fingers twisting and thrusting into Sam’s hole. “So pretty,” Dean says, pressing a soft kiss to the skin stretched taut around his fingers. “You’re so pretty, Sammy, so hot and tight and I _need_ to fuck you now, okay, baby brother?”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam pants out, desperate for more, and Dean smiles like he gets the joke.

Dean presses his forehead to Sam’s as he presses his dick into Sam, one slow push until he’s fully sheathed and Sam latches his ankles together behind Dean’s back, pulls him infinitesimally deeper. “Feels good, De,” Sam says.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” Dean says, half to himself, as he pulls back to thrust in again, sets up a quick deep rhythm. 

The pounding forces short high yelps out of Sam and Dean’s amulet swings between them, bouncing off Sam’s chin. Dean starts to take it off, and Sam stops him. “Don’t, please,” he says, makes the biggest puppy eyes he can. When Dean leaves it, Sam smiles, catches the amulet in his mouth and sucks on it while Dean fucks him, and Dean groans at the sight.

Dean’s dick in his ass and Dean’s abs sliding over his cock with every thrust push Sam to the edge faster than he’d wanted, but it’s been a while and he comes, white spilling out over his chest. Dean cries out, the clench of Sam’s ass squeezing him, and he collapses on top of Sam, shooting his own release deep inside.

They lie together, cramped and hot and sticky and unwilling to separate enough to clean up even a little.

“D’you think I’m here to stay?” Dean asks softly.

“I hope so. Dean, I… I don’t know where you are. I don’t know how to be without you.”

“Hey, hey,” Dean smooths Sam’s hair back from his temples, kisses the tip of his nose. “You’re smart, and strong, and I’m here. I’m right here. You’re gonna be fine.”

Sam falls asleep to the sound of Dean humming “Hey Jude,” and sleeps sounder than he has since Dean disappeared.

-

Eight years ago, Dean wakes up in the back of the Impala, shreds of memory slipping out of his head like quicksilver dreams, leaving him with a sense of certainty: Sammy needs him as much as he needs Sammy, especially now that Dad’s missing. He slides into the driver’s seat and points Baby west, towards Stanford.


End file.
